Anyway the Wind Blows
by Deichan
Summary: Reflective thoughts at a moment of death


//....// = lyrics   
  
Anyway the Wind Blows...   
Ê   
  
//Is this the real life?   
Is this just fantasy?//   
  
Many thoughts flitted through Trowa's mind as he sat in his emancipated Gundam, floating in the vacuum of space. Electric sparks flashed about him from time to time, as bit by bit, the Vayeate fell apart around him. That Quatre, sweet, innocent Quatre would actually fire the   
cannon at him...   
  
The minutes were certainly taking on a surreal quality. The silence pressed upon the brown haired boy like something palpable; all he could hear were his own ragged breaths and the occasional crackle of electricity around him. And the static quiet of the comlink. Trowa knew he   
was going to die soon.Ê   
  
//Caught in a landslide   
No escape from reality//   
  
"Trowa..." The voice over the comlink was filled with horror, anguish... Quatre.   
  
The cherub is smiling no more, the green eyed boy thought mournfully. And he would never be able to see his angel's smile again. If only he could...   
  
But no. It had been the only to stop Quatre from destroying the colony. The colony they were created to protect. The colony which had turned against them. It didn't surprise him in the least that OZ would attempt to turn the colonies against their own weapons.   
  
The Gundams no longer had a purpose. The colonies were on peaceful terms with OZ; though it as only another form of control, the people were blissfully unaware and happy. The Gundams were fighting a useless battle.   
  
//Open your eyes   
Look up to the skies and see//   
  
Trowa raised his head and looked out of the gaping hole in the Vayeate's cockpit into the expanse of space. All around him, stars glimmered like diamonds strewn on black velvet. Beautiful, he thought. Below him, the cold metallic hulk of the colony. The Mercurius was attacking Wing Zero. All this fighting... it wasn't necessary, didn't they see? Their voices floated over the open comlink:   
  
"No Heero, stop! We have to go help Trowa!" Quatre's voice, scared, desperate.   
  
"I have to stop you, Quatre."Ê Heero. Cold, dispassionate, determined.   
  
"But Trowa!"   
  
//I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy   
Because I'm easy come, easy go   
Little high, little low//   
  
Trowa allowed a small smile to touch his lips. Quatre didn't understand. His death didn't really matter in this war; none of them did, anymore. There would be other soldiers, other pilots, other battles. The colonies might realize their slavery once again, they might not. The point was, it   
didn't matter whether or not they lived or died now. The people they fought for no longer cared.   
  
//Anyway the wind blows   
doesn't really matter to me...//   
  
The winds might change again. There might be more fighting, but Trowa didn't care to think about it; it had been a long, hard battle.   
  
He wanted to rest.   
  
//... to me//   
  
------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Quatre turned the mobile suit around, observing the destruction he had wrought fighting his way through the OZ battalion blocking his escape.   
  
//Mama, just killed a man//   
  
The golden haired boy counted 20 destroyed suits. Twenty bodies. Twenty lives blown apart and cut short. By him   
  
//Put a gun against his head   
Pulled my trigger, now he's dead//   
  
In a sudden, blind rage Quatre slammed his fists down on the controls. The rifle the suit had been carrying was thrown away. Tears of pent up anger, frustration, and despair fell from his cheeks onto his clenched, whitened fists. Why must it always end like this? he thought angrily.   
Why so many deaths? Why, why Trowa?   
  
Quatre's heart tightened painfully at the memory of the tall boy. His best friend; his lover. Kind, soothing olive eyes smiled at him under the fall of golden brown hair. The quiet melody of the boy's voice echoed through his head.   
  
Quatre loved him. And Quatre had killed him.   
  
//Mama, life had just begun   
But now I've gone and thrown it all away//Ê   
  
He stood there in the silent, dead passage way. This is what he had become. A killing machine, a destroyer of peace and life, nothing more. Quatre used to see so much more potential for himself; the heir to a massive fortune and business enterprise, a fighter for freedom and justice   
against a cruel world.   
  
These things, and he had become a killer after everything was said and done.   
  
//Mama... didn't mean to make you cry//   
  
Quatre thought of all the people he loved, all the people he had disappointed. His father.. his family, his home.   
  
... Trowa.   
  
Trowa had been right, atÊ the end. Space didn't want them, it no longer needed them. They had indeed been fighting a meaningless battle here, among enemies and allies turned against them.   
  
//If I'm not back again this time tomorrow   
Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters//   
  
The Gundams were needed on Earth. Earth was the cause of the war, the root of the enemy. They could do nothing in space, among colonies that didn't care about them. They were insignificant soldiers, in space.   
  
Quatre manipulated the controls of the Leo, turning it back towards the docking bay where he would hijack a shuttle and leave for Earth with Heero. He resolved that he would continue to battle OZ, not for the colonies which had abandoned him.. but for those who he had caused   
grief, those who he loved, for those who had died for him.   
  
For Trowa. 


End file.
